


Restart from Last Checkpoint?

by godtiermeme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drama™, F/F, Gen, Humanstuck, M/M, Past Abuse, Post-Game AU, Post-Sburb, in which the strilondes remember their super gay romantic lives, welcome to hell™
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6960703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiermeme/pseuds/godtiermeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider is among the Eight Divines. A group of gods whose hands shaped the world of Skaia following the successful completion of a game known as SBURB.</p><p>But, for thousands of years, he's felt that something is missing. Or... is it... someone?</p><p>  <b>If only the eight kids became gods and the trolls forgot the game altogether & the subsequent mayhem that ensues when old couples meet again.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hey hi hello who the fuck are you

**Author's Note:**

> The eight kids are standard immortal gods.
> 
> The twelve trolls are closer to the concept of reincarnation. Their conscience kind of floats around and inhabits people from time to time. None of the trolls remember the game nor do the humans remember the trolls.

**And, so, Skaia was created. And the Eight Divines whose hands sculpted this world became immortal beings; and, still, they reign at the center of the capital. They pass unto the world their knowledge from generation to generation and, as it is, they protect what past generations have learned.**

**Amongst these Divines, there is an order. And it has been established as such:**

**The Upper Triad is comprised of the Maid of Life, the Heir of Breath, and the Witch of Space.**

**There are then two Mediator Pairs. The dominant is the Rogue of Void and the Seer of Light. Below them are the Prince of Heart; and the Page of Hope.**

**The final and least of the Eight Divines is The Inspiration. This is the Knight of Time.**

 

* * *

 

As one of the Eight Divines, you’re technically 5,220 years old. Physically, however, you’re twenty. You’re a roughly six foot tall blond with a penchant for red suits and reflective black shades. You are the Knight of Time, and your name is Dave Strider.

For the past 5,200 years, you’ve existed as the butt of this universe’s divine octarchy. Not that you blame anyone for it. Being the patron god of music and _only_ music isn’t exactly the most impressive criteria. In terms of divine resumes, it’s bullshit. Still, you don’t let it get you down. After all, being able to conjure pianos with a snap of your fingers or create entirely new sounds with little more than a wave of your hand is pretty cool.

On the other hand, you’ve always felt like something was missing. Something… Or, maybe, someone? You’ve never been sure of which. All you know is that you’ve felt that way since SBURB dumped you onto a literal wasteland of a planet—a place you had to sculpt from scratch to be a vibrant city. If you had to compare it to anything, you’d say it was like the world’s most extreme game of SimCity. And by “extreme,” you really mean “fucking outrageous.”

But, that’s enough about that. It’s all water under the proverbial bridge now.

What’s important is that you’re Dave Strider, the god of music, and The Inspiration. You, like your other friends, have long since lost interest in governing your universe. At this point, you find it little more than tedious micromanagement. To make up for this, you’ve started people-watching.

Your favorite spot is at the corner of Selznick and Letterman Street. Across from your usual spot, there’s a wide sidewalk which surrounds the patio of a bar. To be specific, it’s the first place you, personally, ever built. Or, rather, you oversaw its construction at the hands of the mortal beings which inhabit your world. It’s a simple brick building with a faded, out-of-place bronze plaque affixed to it; this plaque acknowledges its historic importance. The Morrowind Pub. It’s ugly, stupid, and—at least, in your opinion—not your best work. However, it’s something familiar in the midst of a city that has evolved without your input for over two thousand years. You might even go so far as to say it’s the _only_ familiar thing left.

That is…

Except for today.

Except for the person across the street with a faded nametag affixed to their lapel. ‘Hello, my name is: Karuna Vantas. He/Him.'

 _‘Vantas,’_ the name is stuck in your head, now. Somehow, you know that name. You know the odd, golden eyes—irises the color of a precious metal and outlined by a rim of dull grey—and the strange, pointed canines which are revealed when he opens his mouth to suck on a cigarette. You know the thick, messy black hair.

Everything else about him, however, is a mystery. You’ve never seen him before. Admittedly, though, he’s pretty damned nice to look at. Smooth, medium brown skin which tends towards the darker end of the spectrum. A thin, defined upper lip which rests sternly atop a full bottom lip. Thick, furrowed brows…

“Who the fuck are you? Hey. You. Blond asshole with the shades and the period costume.”

You jump as an enforcer—the aggressive vigilantes who replaced legitimate law enforcement at least three hundred years ago—grabs you by the shoulder and turns you roughly to face them. You stare at their pale skin and notice its resemblance to your own. In fact, they’re much like you. Pale skin. Red eyes. A perpetual air of indifference. A distinct sense of cocky arrogance…

“Hey. Talking to you, fucker.” A fist slams into your gut. For the sake of authenticity, you feign a reaction. Double over. Act like you're in pain. “You know that asshole over there?”

The enforcer extends their finger and, as your gaze follows it, you find yourself staring at the individual you’d been looking at before you were so rudely interrupted.

At this point in time, he’s being roughed up by a crowd of three other enforcers. Strangely bright red blood drips from his nose and from the right corner of his mouth. As you look on, blood also begins to slowly seep from a fresh gash across his forehead.

Normally, you’d say you didn’t. You’d let the world continue to turn as it is and go back to the mansion you share with the other seven members of the Eight Divines. Now, however, you can’t. In fact, though you sincerely intend to deny any knowledge of this stranger, when you open your mouth… “Yep. Sure do. And I reckon it’s best for you to leave him the fuck alone.”

The enforcer, in return, scoffs. “And why do you say that?”

“Because…”

You’ve gotten yourself this deep already. Might as well finish it off…

With an innocent smile, you rise from where you’ve been sitting on the curb and pull from your belt an unimpressive dagger. In one swift, fluid movement, you stab the offending enforcer in the gut and shove them aside.

Naturally, the remainder scatter. One does manage to shoot you in the side, though.

Not that it does much. Being an immortal god comes with the perk of not having to deal with wounds. By the time you’re standing in front of this Vantas person, it’s already healed. You kneel down and gently shake him by the shoulder.

 

* * *

 

_‘Who the hell is this fucking asshole?’_

This is the first thought that runs through Karuna Vantas’ mind as he stares at this… thing… This freakish humanoid being who’s taken a bullet in the gut and has yet to show an ounce of pain. Or weakness. Or anything resembling any sort of natural reaction that a person should have to being shot.

“Name’s Dave Strider,” the being says it casually. As if it’s known him for years. “Figured I’d take care of some of those assholes for you.”

_‘That accent isn’t from anywhere around here. It’s not from anywhere. Not that I know of.’_

Instinct kicks in. Karuna aims a powerful punch at the strange being’s face and lets forth a gasp as it dodges and a strong grip closes around the back of his shirt, preventing him from falling forward.

And, as if to add insult to injury, the creature laughs. It laughs and that noise is, to Karuna’s annoyance, a strangely lovely sound. It’s little more than a quiet and somewhat nasal chuckle. Yet, it reminds him of… something. Of someone. And the mere idea of this unknown someone stirs within Karuna a sense of peace and belonging that he’s never before known. While most people would take solace in such a feeling, however, he rebels against it. He pulls himself free of the thing’s grasp and scrambles a few feet away.

Yet, it responds in a calm, soft voice. “Calm down, dude. I’m trying to help.”

“You just stabbed an enforcer in the fucking gut, you freak.” The words come forth as a harsh growl that rises from Karuna’s chest. It’s a vitriolic but natural state for him—a feeling of being constantly on edge and alert for possible threats. As the words escape him, however, a surprisingly cold hand grabs him by the arm. He’s dragged towards the unnatural entity.

It presses its left hand against Karuna’s chest and, after a few moments, it releases its grip.

As he stumbles away, however, it dawns upon Karuna that his wounds are healed. Beyond that, he feels… calm. He feels a sense of unprecedented ease. “You… Who the fuck are you?”

“Already told ya,” it shrugs and offers a small smile. Yet, its eyes remain hidden behind reflective black sunglasses. The entire situation raises alarm bells in Karuna’s mind. Yet, he says nothing; he simply listens as the thing continues speaking. “Dave Strider.” It extends its pale hand towards him. “I’m a… um… musician. Yeah. Let’s go with that. I’m a musician.”

“You stabbed an enforcer in the fucking gut,” emphasizes an increasingly frustrated Karuna. “The bastard’s writhing on the ground and dying a few yards away from us.”

“Anyone can stab an asshole like that.” A shrug. A dismissive huff.

Karuna’s brows furrow. The inner edges press together in confusion. “I mean… Sure. Yeah. But…” He eyes the thing over and, after a few seconds, the words simply slip from his mouth. “Do I… know you?”

It grins. Much to the frustration of Karuna, however, that smile throws up a lovely fluttering sensation in the pit of his stomach. “I was just about to ask ya the same thing, actually. Not sure why, but you seem real fuckin’ familiar.”

“Same,” Karuna admits reluctantly. “I don’t know why… but… What the fuck are you?”

“Human?” It shrugs.

And Karuna’s suspicion grows. “You got shot in the stomach. You’re not even fucking bleeding, jackass. What the fuck are you?”

It sighs. The smile fades and a nervous laugh follows. “Okay. Fine… Um… I’m… What do you all call me? The Inspirer or something corny like that.”

_‘This cannot be fucking happening.’_

“This is awkward as fuck, ain’t it? Why don’t you… You want to talk this over at the central mansion?”

 _‘No. Fucking hell no,’_ that’s what Karuna wants to say; yet, instead, something entirely different comes from his open mouth. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

_‘WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **comments and feedback welcome! and suggestions! ~~and money~~**


	2. no really hi hello notice me

You’re honestly not sure why he came along with you. Really, you had fully and truly believed he would punch you in the face and tell you to fuck off. But, he didn’t. He agreed to follow you back to the mansion in the center of Skaia—the place where you live with the seven other humans stupid enough to have tried playing some shitty video game five thousand some years ago.

But, right now, it doesn’t matter _why_ this guy is following you. What matters is the fact that you did _not_ think this through. You don’t know this person at all. You have nothing to say to him.

What the hell were you thinking, Strider? What the absolute fuck were you thinking?

“So…” you begin. You fall silent.

He, in return, responds with a disgruntled huff as he trails a few feet behind. “So what? Why the fuck are you interested in me?” he snaps. “If you’re supposedly a motherfucking god, why are you interested in some random city trash like me?”

“No reason,” you lie. Obviously, you picked him because he reminds you of something. Or someone. Or some sort of combination thereof; but, you’re not going to admit that. Saying something like that is the number one way to get yourself stabbed. And, sure, it doesn’t hurt, but it’s kind of annoying to have to dig a knife out of your gut. “So… Karuna, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Neat name.”

“You fucking want it?” he grumbles. Turning to look at him, you find that he’s buried his hands into the pockets of his ratty grey suit jacket. He rolls his eyes and you redirect your gaze to the path ahead of you as he continues, “No one can fucking spell it. And I doubt it means anything.”

Somehow, you feel like it meant something back in your universe. If Google was still a thing here, you’d use it in a heartbeat. Too bad Dirk replaced good old Google with some sort of weird shit he called BroSearch. So, rather than try to point out some esoteric trivia, you shrug. “I think it sounds pretty fuckin’ cool, actually.”

“Great for you, Strider,” he grunts. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. It’s not a lie. Actually, it’s nowhere near being a lie. It’s absolute truth. You have no clue what you started talking to this guy for. You don’t know why you’re still talking to him, actually… “You… um… play any music?”

“Yeah. I play the triangle. Which is why I’m beyond fucking baffled as to why you felt the need to get into my personal space. I don’t have a singular musical talent to my name.” Again, you turn to look at him. He’s running his fingers through his hair in a manner that seems indicative of some level of annoyance. Although, just listening to his voice is enough to tell you that. “Look, I’ve got a cousin to get back to. She’s kind of waiting for me to come back with some food and, well, I’ve got jack shit. Absolutely nothing. Those enforcer assholes took my groceries.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to say.

He, however, is on a roll. “Bastards. Fucking assholes. Well, fuck them. All they got is some moldy penny-bin1 peanut butter.” For a brief moment, a sardonic smile crosses his features. And, despite the fact that this grin is sarcastic and bitter, it makes you feel strangely happy. It makes your heart race. “Now, can I fucking leave? I know I agreed to your house, but I didn’t fucking mean it. I just wanted for you to shut up.”

You nod slowly.

Admittedly, you feel pretty shitty about the situation. So, behind the protective wall of the lenses of your shades, you close your eyes. You bring to mind an image of a resonant golden bowl and, using the powers granted to you by the game, pull said bowl from your pocket. “I’d be happy to help,” you say, offering the bowl to him.

And he, after a solid five minutes of eyeing you over with unabashed suspicion, shakes his head. “No. No fucking way. You’re more suspicious than a giant sign that advertises free food and unlimited alcohol. Way too good to be true. I’m not getting involved, jackass.”

You, however, feel too guilty to let it drop that easily. So, you tug at the bottom of your own jacket to reveal the array of blades you always carry with you. A side-effect of the game, of course. You don’t really need them; but, they certainly make you less likely to be attacked by the inhabitants of the universe you helped to create. “I’ll walk you to the nearest grocery and back to your place. Promise. Really, dude, I feel real fuckin’ awful about this. Let me make it up to ya.”

“You’re the most fucking dubious person I’ve ever met.” As he says this, though, he stares at the bowl in your hand. He lets forth a long, reluctant sigh. “Fine,” he mutters, “Whatever. I’ll take you up on the offer.”

“Cool. Thanks, dude, I—”

“And then I want you to leave me the fuck alone, got it?” he interjects. “I don’t want any part in your fucked-over celestial games or whatever. I don’t need any more shit in my life than I’ve already got.”

Shit.

He really doesn’t take any shit. None. He takes negative shits, actually.

After taking a nervous breath, you nod. For some reason that you can’t place, you feel a sinking sensation in the pit of your stomach. It’s a sense that’s comparable to being punched in the gut. And it’s not a light punch, either; it’s a pretty powerful blow. This is, of course, and analogy that would only work if you could still feel pain. “Okay. Yeah. That’s cool.”

It’s not actually cool. But, it’s better than nothing.

Because being with him gives you this strange feeling of inner peace. It fills in the space left by what feels like that one piece that’s missing from an otherwise finished puzzle. And, in the past five thousand years, this random, grumpy asshole is the only person who’s ever done that.

Even his voice—harsh and commanding and somewhat domineering—is inexplicably charming. “So, if I’m supposed to believe the bullshit that’s spewing from your fucking mouth, Strider, the giant mansion at the center of the city isn’t just for show. It’s not some sort of abstruse spiritual symbol?”

You shake your head. “Nah. The Eight Divines are a real thing. We’ve got much less awesome names, though. Like… I’m Dave. And there’s John, Jade, and Rose.” You shrug. In all honesty, you’ve always been pretty amused at the fact that the inhabitants of this world inherently chose your god tier titles as your names. The lore of the universe you helped to create has always amused you, really. “We’re not that cool, either. John’s a fuckin’ dork.”

Here, you catch a glimpse of a small, brief smile from Karuna. It makes your heart flip in your chest and makes clichéd butterflies flutter about in your stomach. “You’re certainly nothing more than another unknown jackass. Some arrogant bastard who acts like the world’s in his shitty palm. Although… I guess, if you’re really one of the Eight Divines, it really is…”

“Me?” You can’t help but laugh at the notion. Aside from that, you wonder if this guy’s ever picked up a Skaian Codex. “I’m the ass of the octarchy, dude. I’m The Inspiration. Literally the lowest of the eight.”

“Yeah. I know that,” he snaps, “I’m just saying that you’ve got power or… something. You just pulled a bowl made of gold from your ass like a computer game character.” He frowns and turns on his heel. With his head bowed and his shoulders slouched forward, he begins to walk through the crowded streets.

And you, caught slightly off guard, scramble to catch up with him. When you do, you do the first thing you can think of. You continue to talk. “No big deal,” you shrug, “It’s a thing that happens. So… um… Your cousin…?”

“Kandice, and she’s not interested in fuckwads like you, Strider.” Without ever looking at you, he picks up the pace. He turns quickly, taking a sharp left, and enters a fairly shady pawn shop.

You, meanwhile, stagger through the dense city crowd. When he turns, you do, too. You stumble after him and enter into the shop. The bowl garners as much of a profit as you’d expected. Two hundred dollars.

As the money passes from your hands to his, he glares at you once again. Somehow, his gaze meets yours. “Great. Now, leave.”

“That’s a whole lot of money to be carrying around, though,” you say, trying desperately to keep this sense of completeness going. To stay near him. “I’ll walk you home. Take out any asshats who try to rough you up.”

He, in return, sighs. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. When he replies, his voice is thick with a distinctive sense of rising anger. “You’re a real pain in the ass, Strider. For a supposed god, you’re a real pain.”

“Thanks.” For some reason, you mean it. You’re happy to just continue to be near him. This feeling continues as you follow him down a series of winding alleys and into a run-down old house with fading brick walls.

It’s one of those things that has been swallowed by time. It’s worked into the base of a massive skyscraper and its former historic marker has been peeled off, leaving behind an obvious scar on the building. Four holes—one in each corner—and a spot of bright red against dark brick are all that remain of the sign. The windows are covered in steel plating that’s been affixed to the window frames with Ultra Glue.

Dirk made Ultra Glue. In fact, it’s the last thing he made before getting bored and deciding that moderating this world wasn’t worth his time. Since then, he’s been working on building the perfect android—something so human no one would ever know it’s a robot unless it peeled off its skin.

The door to the home is little more than a series of similarly bonded wooden panels. They’ve been roughly cut to fit the frame and a handle straight out of the late 1200’s—at least in this universe; probably closer to modern door handles in the old universe—is affixed to it. It’s actually mildly amusing to see him pull out a physical key to open his door. You haven’t seen one of those fuckers in millennium.

“I’m home.” His voice interrupts your thoughts. His gaze spears through your heart like a well-aimed harpoon. You are the huge, floundering, murderous whale and he’s the vengeful fisherman with a huge harpoon gun. (Admittedly, you never finished reading Moby Dick. To be honest, you never read it. You’re just making the best analogy out of what you’ve got.) Whatever the case is, he’s peering at you in that sort of ‘fuck-off-and-leave-me-alone’ way. When he speaks, his words only further confirm this. “You can leave now, jackass.”

“I…” You pause. For the first time in quite a while, you’re out of words to say. You want to stay with him—to continue to feel as if that tiny little hole in your heart has been plugged—but, you can’t think of what to say. So, instead, you fall back on an old tactic. You begin to ramble. “Nice place you’ve got.”

“It’s a shithole,” he grunts. “Leave.”

“I think it’s kind of quaint.” As he tries to close the door, you jam your foot in front of it. With your weight against it, you hold it open. You look inside—at the cobweb-covered and quite possibly ancient furniture. It’s the type of stuff that was popular when your world literally exploded into fine, meteor-pounded dust. So, in this world, it’s at least four two or three thousand years old. Or, maybe it’s that sort of old kitschy furniture that you’ve seen niche stores selling from time to time. “Kinda’ cute, actually.”

“Leave me the fuck alone, asshole.”

“I feel like I know you. Not too sure why…”

Karuna responds with a groan of disgust. “Shut. The fuck. Up. I do, too, but I’m not about to get involved in this bullshit. Screwing with gods is never a smart thing to do.”

You, in return, sigh.

You suppose you’ll just do this the easy way.

You press your hand against the door and smirk as the wood collapses into a pile of loose, blank sheets of music paper. This is met with what you can only assume is a natural look of shock from the seemingly lone inhabitant of the makeshift house. You notice that he's alone purely because he'd said something about a cousin. And you sure as he;; don't see any cousin around here. “Kind of drafty in here, dude. You ever clean this place up or…?”

“Seriously. Whoever or whatever the fuck you are, leave me alone,” he demands. Perhaps due to the fact that he’s not thinking anything through, he pulls a gun from a nearby cabinet and aims it at your head.

It’s one of those fancy laser pistols. Fifty shots per energy packet. You can tell because you were with Jake when he began to devise the weapons. They’re designed to be powerful, lightweight, and easy to handle. Now, though, they’re outrageously outdated. Most guns around now get at least five hundred shots per energy pack. And that’s from an energy pack of the same size.

But, you digress.

The point his is that this sure as hell won’t do anything to you. In fact, you’ve always preferred being shot with energy weapons; there’s no bullet to dig out. Or, if you’re feeling lazy, for your body to slowly expel. “You’re about to shoot a god, dude.”

Karuna rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Take a fucking hint.”

You sigh.

Obviously, he doesn’t want you here. Still…

“Okay. How about this? Swing by the central mansion in the next few days,” as you say this, you pull from the inside pocket of your coat a red ink pen. You scribble the code to the gates which guard the mansion from the rest of the world—314612—onto one of the loose pieces of music paper. “I’ll make this up to you. Got a whole pile of money for the taking,” you hand the page over to him, “And… um…”

You snap your fingers. The pages the door had collapsed into reform, creating what you consider to be a more aesthetically pleasing portal, which affixes itself in the proper position. “Fixed your door, too. So… um… If you want to talk to me, I’m on Pesterchum as turntechGodhead.”

“I’ll see you in hell,” Karuna snaps as he balls up the paper and shoves it into his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1penny bins are these fuckin awful things like dollar bins but instead everything in thems a fuckin penny and usually all you get is some moldy expired shit
> 
> **comments and feedback and stuff are still welcome**


	3. no really please come visit

“Dave, you really need to stop messing with the inhabitants of this universe.”

You sigh and look at the source of the soft, calm voice—a woman who looks a lot like you, albeit with a pink hairband and violet eyes. This just so happens to be your cousin, Rose Lalonde. Or, maybe, she’s your sister. You’ve never been too sure about all of that. All you know is that she means well; but, she tends to get on your nerves. In fact, in reply to this commentary, you roll your eyes. “What the fuck else am I supposed to do?” you grumble. “There’s nothing else worth shit around here. We’ve just been sitting on our asses and playing shitty board games games for two _thousand_ motherfuckin’ years, Rose.”

“Yeah?” She shrugs.

Falling back against your bed, you let forth a groan of annoyance. “I know him, though, Rose. I don’t know why I think that, but I _know_ him.”

“You’ve probably seen him around somewhere,” says Rose, rolling her eyes. “Look, do you even know his name?”

“Vantas,” you respond confidently. “Karuna Vantas.”

Rose freezes. Her gaze meets yours and, to your shock, you see it. You see a spark of recognition. “Vantas… I think I know that name, too, actually…”

“Exactly.” You run your fingers through your hair and stare at the intricate plaster ceiling. “And Kandice. He’s got a cousin named Kandice.”

“You lost me, Dave.”

“Fuck.” You fold your arms across your chest and pull off your shades. A literal lifetime ago, you couldn’t do this. You’d get unbearable headaches from just the slightest bit of light; but, the game healed that. And you have to give it kudos for that. You hold your shades to the light and examine the lenses before wiping them off on your shirt. “Um…”

_‘Maryam.’_

The name pops into your mind without any explanation. And you swear to… well… you _are_ a god, so, you swear to yourself that you’ve never heard it before. At the same time, however, it’s familiar. It escapes your mouth with the odd sort of smoothness that comes with a familiar name. In other words, it rolls off the tongue like the finest, slickest butterball. “Maryam.”

And, again, Rose’s eyes widen. The inner edges of her brows push together to form an inverted arch of concern. “I… Know that name. Kandice… Maryam… That seems so—”

The door slams open, interrupting this moment of revelation.

A familiar face—again, one that resembles yours, albeit a bit tanner and wearing triangular anime shades—is framed in the doorway. “What’s up, bro?” he exclaims in his usual smooth but assertive Texan drawl, “Check what I found.”

“We were in the middle of something, Dirk,” Rose begins.

Dirk, however, dismisses the commentary. In fact, you’re not even sure if he notices that Rose is talking. Instead, he’s shoving a beaten up old anime box set against your chest. “This is quite possibly the most important discovery I’ve made in the past fuck-knows-how-many-thousand years.”

It doesn’t take much to realize that he’s not about to leave you and Rose alone. So, you stare at the item that falls into your hands. “This is all… over… Neon Genesis? On VHS?”

“This is an important archeological find, Dave,” comes an amazingly straight reply.

You, in return, sigh. You roll your eyes and shove the set of VHS tapes back into Dirk’s arms. “I don’t even _like_ Neon Genesis, dude.”

“Oh…” He looks mildly disappointed, though it’s hard to tell his exact emotions with those stupid shades covering his eyes. “Well, fine. What were you and Rose talking about, anyhow?”

“Nothing,” Rose interjects.

Dirk simply shrugs. He turns towards you with an odd sort of subtle pout before departing, all while muttering something about you and Rose not understanding the subtle art which is Neon Genesis.

 

* * *

 

“Who was that?”

Karuna Vantas frowns. His eyes dart towards what he often refers to as the back door. In all honesty, it’s little more than a large, loose wooden plank. Through some clever knot-tying, he's set it so that it can only be opened by someone who knows which string to pull. Literally.

Outside, there’s a wooden board with holes drilled into it. Six strings hang straight down from this board and, to open the door, the second string from the left must be pulled. And it has to be pulled in a very specific manner. It’s something that instills within Karuna not only a great sense of security; but, also a sense of pride. A sort of ‘look what I did’ feeling.

His long-time roommate and cousin, Kandice, however, has complained about the system. In fact, she’s cut the ropes to get in through the back door on more than one occasion. And, as she squeezes through the gap on this particular day, it seems that her feelings towards the setup haven’t changed. “By the way, Kar, your pulley system is quite possibly the worst and most cumbersome thing I’ve ever had to deal with. And I used to live with that weird asshole with the clown makeup.”

Karuna, however, is quick to defend his system. “Better to be safe than fucking dead. All it takes it one nosy asshole to move that plywood and find out, ‘Oh! Hey! There’re actually people living here! Let’s just stab them and take their shit!’”

“Whatever,” Kandice replies. She rolls her eyes and pulls off the thick, black denim hood that covers her hair and casts dark shadows across her face. This reveals her dark brown skin and further emphasizes her jade green eyes. Her hair is thick and curly and natural and, as it is, she takes great pride in maintaining it. In fact, Karuna is genuinely surprised at how roughly she removes her hood.

“What? Shitty haul today?”

A slow nod. Kandice drops her beaten-up drawstring sack from her shoulder and dumps its contents onto the floor. Metal clangs against metal and scrapes against plastic and porcelain. “Didn’t get much from the scrapyard today. So, yes, I suppose you can say it was a ‘shitty haul.’” She emphasizes the fact that she’s using Karuna's words and not hers with air quotes. However, as she finishes saying this, her eyes fall upon the formidable mountain of food that’s gathered atop the couch behind Karuna.

He, in return, frowns. He rubs the back of his neck and chews on his lip. Having known Kandice for quite a while, he’s perfectly aware of the fact that she’s about to question him.

And, sure enough, she does. “Where’d you get all of that?”

“It’s a… um… It’s a fucked over story. Some jackass claiming to be The Inspiration helped me out. Stabbed an enforcer, got shot in the gut, and gave me this golden bowl. I pawned it and got a fuckton of food.” Running his fingers through his hair, Karuna shrugs. He rolls his eyes and lets forth a long, disgruntled sigh. “Doesn’t matter. Said his name was Dave.”

Kandice freezes. Her brows furrow and her thick, full lips purse together in thought. After a few minutes, she speaks up, “Dave… Strider?”

“Yeah,” by now, Karuna’s begun to gather the groceries. Upon hearing the last name, however, the plastic bags tumble from his arms. He turns. “How’d you know that?”

“I’m not sure,” admits Kandice. “I just know that name from… somewhere.”

“Fuck.” Considering Karuna’s personality and vocabulary, this isn’t exactly a strange word for him to say. However, this time, it carries a bit more oomph than usual. It’s more serious. More pensive. “I think I’ve gotten us into some deep shit. And…” From his pocket, he pulls the crumpled piece of paper and hands it to his cousin. As she studies it, he continues, “He said to visit him at the stupid mansion in the middle of the city. I thought it was a load of bullshit, but…”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Kandice shrugs. She carefully folds the wrinkled page and stows it away in her own pocket with a wry and nigh indecipherable smile—an expression that crosses her features often. An expression that, despite its frequency, annoys Karuna to no end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't expect this many kudos so fast so thanks. glad people are liking this... whatever it is...


	4. you came to visit i am so touched

Again, you’re honestly floored that this is happening. You expected for Karuna to never show up.

Instead, at seven in the morning, you’re woken from an unnecessary nap. As a god, you don’t really need sleep. You just do it to pass time and you’re mildly annoyed until you hear John’s voice.

“Some shouting jackass and his really hot girlfriend are at the door. I have no fucking clue how they got through the gate, but they’re asking for you. And… um… should I just go back and pull a Men in Black? Quick mind wipe, free icy pop, and an all-expenses-paid trip to the nearest hospital?”

You frown. After letting your mind clear for a moment, you sit up and meet John’s sky blue gaze. Your heart flutters, though you know the feeling will never come to fruition. John was never interested in you; at least, he didn’t feel for you as you feel for him. “What? I…” Finally, the words sink in. You quickly change your response’s course. “No. Don’t do that. I invited him. I’ll handle him.”

“Okay, cool,” John replies with a characteristically wide grin. “That’s great, because he forced his way inside already.”

You sigh. You massage your temples with your thumbs and stumble from your bed.

Up the flowery, spiral staircase whose banisters look like wands—clearly a creation of Rose’s—and into the huge, enigmatic foyer designed by Jake. There, you see him sprawled out on the couch. The woman you assume to be Kandice (Maryam?) is examining the bookshelf that consumes literally the entire eastern wall. From what you know, it seems that she, like Rose, is drawn to the romantic novels hidden near the top. In fact, she’s cleared off the coffee table and pushed it against the shelving so that she can reach these books.

“Does she… do that… a lot?”

Karuna shrugs. He shoves his hands into the pockets of the same ratty grey jacket from earlier. “We both like romance novels. I just can’t be bothered to try that fucking much to get my hands on some.” He steps forward and, for the first time, you realize something.

He might be a good foot shorter than you, but he’s pretty sturdy. He’s got fairly broad shoulders; and, now that you're thinking about it, you recall that his knuckles were marked with scars that looked like the scrapes you’d get from punching a wall. Or a person. Or both. Suddenly, you feel vulnerable. And you know it’s a pointless feeling; after all, you’re a god. You can’t die.

Well… you could.

There’s one very specific but not exactly rare situation that _will_ kill you. But…

“Strider.” Fingers snap in front of you. About two or three inches from the tip of your nose.

You jump slightly. “Oh. Yeah. So…” You motion for Karuna to follow you.

And, from the foyer, you lead him into what you like to call The Money Room. It’s literally a massive room filled with haphazardly stacked money. Crumbling, loose mountains of cash reach the ceiling like rugged mountain peaks. “How much do you want?”

He remains silent for a while.

A good ten minutes pass before you decide it’s time to prompt him again for an answer. “Money. How much do you want?” As you say this, you turn to look at him.

His jaw hangs open. His brows are furrowed dramatically. It’s almost comical, really. He looks like a stock cartoon character in a state of profound shock. After you question him again, however, he seems to gather his wits about himself long enough to speak. “You’re really just going to hand me a fucking sack of cash and let me walk off?”

“Yeah,” you respond with a confused laugh. “Why not?”

“It feels… wrong,” he admits. “It’s like cheating.”

Here, you laugh. It’s a genuine laugh. After all, the irony of the statement isn’t about to slip past you, the great and always ironic Dave Strider. “Let me let ya in on little secret, dude,” you snicker, “This entire universe…” To emphasize your point, you motion around you. With a broad, sweeping gesture, you point out the world around you. “It’s the result of a video game. All eight of us Eight Divines? Yeah. We’re winners of one fuckin’ ass of a game.”

Karuna’s eyes narrow. Not that you can blame him—it’s way out there. After all, if someone told you that your world was the result of a video game, you’d call bullshit. “Are you high? Or do you just never make a single bit of fuckin’ sense.”

“Probably a little bit of both,” you admit. “I mean… I _am_ a god. So I’m pretty… high up.”

“Fuck.” Karuna grumbles. He rolls his eyes. “I’ll just take two grand.”

You pause. While you haven’t been keeping up to date on all the most recent happenings in the universe, you’re perfectly aware of the massive inflation that’s gone down. Or, rather, it’s gone up. “Two grand won’t last you a week, ya know.”

“Oh, I know,” he growls. “I just can’t fucking stand you.”

“That’s hurtful,” you say, feigning offense, “But… okay…” From the stack, you pull an armful of cash and hand it over to Karuna. “If you need any more money, feel free to come back.”

He sighs and shoves the cash into the tattered, old sack he’d brought with him. As he slings this over his shoulder, he responds, “Isn’t this breaking some sort of fucking rule?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “Probably something about gods not fucking interfering with things and _not inviting people to their fucking house_.”

“Oh. There is.” This isn’t exactly a secret. Long ago, you all agreed to never bring guests into the house. According to John, it was the Friendship Pact. “But it’s not like there can really be a punishment, so…”

Karuna grunts. He turns his back to you and heads purposefully towards the door. Naturally, you follow; and, as you both emerge into the main foyer, he lets forth a groan of frustration. “Motherfucking shit… I leave for five damned minutes and my fuckwit of a cousin is fucking gone.”

You shrug. “No clue. I mean…”

Around now, you’re interrupted by the sound of laughter. While you’re not sure of the identity of one of these people, you can definitely peg the other as your cousin, Rose. That’s not exactly hard to figure out. She’s got a distinctive laugh—one that, though quiet, carries well.

Putting two and two together—or, perhaps, ‘les-‘ and ‘-bian’—together, you voice your conclusion. “Looks like your cousin made a new friend.”

“Motherfucking shit.” With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Karuna drops the sack. “Where the fuck is she?”

You, unable to suppress a smirk, shrug. From the foyer, you lead your disgruntled guest back up the stairway and down the hallway to the right. Third door on the right. Not that it’s hard to spot—Rose’s door is clearly labelled. “I’d advise you to knock, first.”

Karuna sighs. Again, he rolls his eyes. He knocks and, a few minutes later, just S he prepares to knock for the second time, the door swings open.

Rose greets the two of you. And the smile on her face is obvious. In fact, if you had to say anything about it, you’d decree it as possibly the most exuberant grin you’ve seen in a long while. Peering into the room, the reason is equally obvious. Kandice—Karuna’s apparent cousin—is perched atop Rose’s bed. Next to her is a stack of romance novels.

As the door opens and the person knocking is revealed to the room’s occupants, Kandice speaks up. “This is my cousin, Karuna. He’s—”

“Time to leave.” The words are flat and commanding. In fact, you might go so far as to say they’re a bit intimidating.

Kandice, however, doesn’t budge. “You can certainly leave if you want, Karuna,” she hums, “I’m having a perfectly fine time talking to Rose.”

To corroborate this story, Rose offers an exuberant nod. “I concur. I’ll walk your cousin back to your house when she’s ready.”

Karuna makes some sort of strange noise—something akin to a slowly deflating tire—and frowns. His brows furrow and his face is the perfect image of a cartoon character who’s had enough shit. In fact, he’s quite obviously had _too much_ shit. “Fine,” he huffs, turning on his heel, “I don’t give a fuck. Stay forever for all I care. I’m getting the hell out of this tacky den of excess.”

True to his word, Karuna returns to the atrium and hurries out the door,

And you, meanwhile, are left with that same, strange feeling that something is missing.

* * *

With a fair amount of pleading, you convinced Rose to let you walk Kandice home. She doesn't seem to mind you and, upon overhearing your situation, she graciously agreed to promote your cause. Something about always loving a good romantic mystery. Whatever her reasoning, the important part is that she played along with it.

Upon arriving at the home, Kandice feigned ignorance. Claimed that Rose had never promised that she, specifically, would be the one to walk her home. Unfortunately for you, it didn't go over well.

You'll preface this by saying that one of the most annoying injuries to sustain is a broken nose. For some reason, they take longer to heal than most other wounds. And that means you're stuck with a nice, prolonged nosebleed.

All of this brings you to where you are now. Sitting on the dusty floor of the Vantas-Maryam abode. Holding an old, musty-smelling dishcloth to your nose, and listening to the asshole who punched you complain about how much of a mess you're making.

You, however, are quick to point out that it _is_ Karuna's fault for punching you.

Nonetheless, he doesn't take the criticism well. "Did I ask for your opinion, you omnipotent smartass?"

"I'm not actually omnipotent, surprisingly," you begin.

He, however, is taking none of it. "I don't give a damn. GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

You nod. To your confusion, the feeling of completeness and warmth persists even as you proverbially shit yourself. (After all, gods don't need to poop. Or piss.) Of the two emotions, the latter is stronger. You scramble to your feet and run. And only once you return to the mansion do you realize that you accidentally stole a shitty dishcloth from the home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **comments and feedback still appreciated and you can also message me on[my blog](http://tennantstype40.tumblr.com)**


	5. hey i just met you

The next time you see him, it’s a good three miles from where you first met. It’s been a good three weeks since he came to your house.

You stand in the shadow of a massive skyscraper. Sunlight reflects off the glass and beats against your back as pure, intense heat. You’re on the corner of Astor and Apostle and, across the street, you see him.

His suit is stained with oil and grease and blood. The faded black tie he wears is ripped, leaving only about three inches hanging from his neck. He’s sitting on the ground with his back slumped against the wall of the building behind him. And, naturally, you feel compelled to help. Or at least, you feel compelled to cross the street to check on him.

“Hey. Karuna.” As you speak—making sure to keep the most gentle, calm tone you can possibly muster—you shake him by the shoulder. “Dude? You okay?”

He stirs slightly. His eyes flutter open and he inhales sharply before punching you squarely in the face. When he realizes what’s happening, though, you notice a look of mild remorse. His voice further hints at a certain degree of regret. “Oh. Sorry. I thought you were the… debt… collector.” He forces a nervous laugh, and the action stretches his facial features awkwardly. It’s a wholly unconvincing display. Perhaps he’s aware of that, though, because he quickly clears his throat and continues, “I… What’re you doing here?”

You shrug. “Dirk said there’s a lot of shit going down around here. Enforcers being way outside their boundaries and doing fuckin’ outrageous bull.” You extend your hand towards him. And you’re genuinely surprised when he takes you up on the offer. With little effort, you’re able to help him to his feet. “You seen anything?”

“No,” he scoffs, “I’m covered in blood because I’m a butcher.”

“Really?” Your response is just as facetious, if not more.

He rolls his eyes and rubs his hands together. In the cold winter air, you can see his breath. You see as he blows into his cupped hands to try and warm them. “Yeah. I’ve seen shit. Enforcers roughed me up a little. Probably sent by those asshole debt collectors.”

“Hm.” Stepping forward, you reach hesitantly towards his chest. When he nods approvingly, you continue. You press your palm flat against his breastbone and breathe in. As you breathe out, you let energy flow from you to him. His wounds close and, when they seem to have finished healing, you withdraw your hand. A tingling in your fingertips alerts you to the excess energy which flows back into you.

“Said they’d just shoot to kill next time,” he shrugs. The words don’t seem to mean much to him. “Kandice can take care of herself. I’m just a fucking accessory. Extra income from what I do.” An indignant huff punctuates this statement.

You find it necessary to prod him for more information. “And… what exactly do you do?”

“I’m a petty thief,” he admits it without as much as a blink. You assume it’s something he’s done for a while. After all, he shows no remorse; he shows no hesitancy. “Break into places, take some shit, pawn it off to a fence.” Folding his arms across his chest, he draws from his breast pocket a pack of cigarettes. He shakes one loose from the packaging and sticks it in his mouth. He lights it with a dented, old plastic lighter. One with some abstracted swan design on the front. “So, yeah, they’ve got reason to beat me the fuck up.”

“Not really. You’re just doing what it takes to keep going, right?” You turn your gaze away from him. Though your words were encouraging, you’re honestly a bit conflicted. You’ve never liked thieves. But, you like him. “Can I bum one off of you?”

He looks at you, shrugs, and passes you a singular cigarette. You refuse the lighter and simply direct a small bit of energy to the tip of the tobacco-stuffed roll of paper. There’s a certain sort of satisfaction that rises within you when Karuna reacts with shock. “Neat trick, huh? I can also make this last as long as I want. Take some of the energy of the fire and direct it into rebuilding what’s burned off.”

“Take a little, make a little,” he mutters absentmindedly. “I get it. It’s how I’ve lived for the past nineteen fucking years.” As he breathes in, the light at the end of his cigarette fades. It flickers and, when he exhales, it lights up a brilliant red. Some of the light falls on his cheeks, casting his face in a warm, soft light.

Deep in your stomach, you feel the fluttering of a proverbial flock of butterflies. You can hear your own heartbeat. Your lips are dry and your throat is scratchy. Still, you manage to reply without belaying these facts. “I’ve been looking for someone to play some of my music,” you mutter. “Someone with a memorable personality and all that shit. Y’know. A sort of virtuoso musical star.”

His gaze beats against the side of your face like the fist of a video game enemy. A perfect smoke ring escapes his slightly parted lips—lips that look incredibly soft—before he speaks, saying, “You’re proposing that I work for your insufferable ass?”

“Yeah…” You’re sure to avoid his gaze as you wander down the street, keeping the same pace as him. “I… um… Rose would love to let Kandice live with her and you…” A nervous cough. You clear your throat and take a deep breath. “You can live with me.”

Karuna, in reply, hums thoughtfully. After a few minutes, however, he offers a blunt answer. “No. Fuck off.”

“Please,” you say it with a bit more desperation than you intended. You find yourself rushing ahead of him and grabbing him by the shoulders, hanging on even as he pushes violently away from you. “Please. I’ll give you everything you want. Money. Fame. A legacy…”

“No!” he exclaims for the second time. Now, however, it seems a bit less certain. He hesitates for a few seconds.

So, you push him. Press him further in the hopes of obtaining the outcome you want—of somehow filling that enigmatic void that’s consumed you for the past five thousand years. “I’ll give you everything. Anything. Please. I’m…” A long sigh of humiliation escapes you. As it stands, you can tell that Karuna’s the type of person who’s motivated by emotion. If you can convince his conscience; you’ll convince him. Still, what you say isn’t easy for you to admit. “I’m lonely,” you mutter. The words are something you say to convince him; but, you need to convince yourself of their veracity, too. You have to realize what that nagging feeling—that void that you’ve been violently opposing for so long—is. “Everyone else has a job. John controls the weather. Rose is the guardian of all humanly knowledge. Jade controls life. Roxy is the goddess of death and memory. And I’m just the music asshole.”

Karuna sighs. His efforts to escape lessen.

“I’ll give you anything you want, dude. Promise. You’ll get every perk that I can give you. Near-eternal life and youth…”

“Fine,” he interjects. “Fine. Just… shut up. Shut the fuck up.”

You nod slowly, amazed that the plan worked.

And he, in return, breathes a huff of reluctance. “I’ll go get Kandice. We’ll be there by tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

True to his word, he shows up early the next morning.

Both he and Kandice carry little more than a modest handful of extra clothes and, at least in Karuna’s case, an old photo in a cracked frame. From what you can tell, it’s a picture of his family. Or someone in his family. You don’t really care much about it.

Since Rose was waiting with you, she proceeds to eagerly welcome Kandice. The two dart off in a flurry of snickers and pretentious jokes.

You, however, have a less enjoyable time moving Karuna in.

He rarely speaks. In fact, his lips are seemingly sealed. He throws his entire rucksack into the drawers you set aside for him and looks around with a judgmental eye. “It smells like dirt down here, Strider.”

You try to play it cool. To act like your heart isn’t flipping in your chest faster than a world-class gymnast. “We’re six stories belowground,” you shrug. “I like the smell of dirt.”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, “Because that’s exactly what you are.” With a sigh, he detaches a beaten-up knife from his belt. He sets it atop the chest of drawers and inspects his bed. “You’re a god, aren’t you? Why not live in a tower or something shitty and awful like that?”

“I’ve never liked heights.” Ever since sorting out the shit that was your relationship with Bro, you grew to fear heights. You developed, also, a fear of the sound of metal hitting metal. You ridded yourself of the latter, however, with time. A lot of time. About three thousand years. However, you’ve never conquered the first fear. “Being underground is nice. It’s warm and quiet.”

“It’s damp and awful,” protests Karuna. “What is this? A fucking dungeon?”

You sigh. “Maybe?”

He rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his chest.

You return to the foyer. From the kitchen, you gather the supplies you need for your favorite meal. Cinnamon baked apples with pancakes. Drizzled—or, more aptly, drowned—in syrup. You create this in a manner similar to how you light your cigarette. Focus your energy into the food and envision what you want. Mold it as you molded from barren land the world which surrounds you. And, when you’re done, top it all off with a cherry you steal from Dirk’s side of the fridge. After all, he won’t miss _one_ cherry.

From here, you return to the bedroom. You present your creation to Karuna.

And he seems less than amazed. Nonetheless, he’s appreciative. “Well,” he admits, “It’s better than the shit I usually eat…”

“Mhm.” It’s all you can manage to say.

He, in the meantime, eats the meal. At the end, he offers something unexpected—a small smile. A gesture of appreciation that warms your heart in the sappiest, most clichéd way you could ever imagine. And, yet, for all the saccharine bullshit, you find that you’re genuinely happy. For once in the past five thousand years, you’re completely content.

Honestly, it feels good.

It’s something new. Something that, somehow, you’ve forgotten. A feeling that you thought you’d never know again.

Sure, it sounds awfully melodramatic; but, it’s how you feel. It’s what’s running through your mind as you stare at that small, barely visible smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **comments and feedback are STILL welcome and appreciated!**


	6. aw shit this is getting real

Since you were unceremoniously deposited in this universe, you’ve had dreams. You’ve seen the face of someone incredibly similar to Karuna. Someone whose skin is literally grey. Someone with thick, wiry black hair and stubby orange horns. Someone with a smile that could melt steel and a snarl that can break through concrete.

You’ve never been able to recall a name. At all. Nothing.

Now, though, you recall some of it. Or, at least, you’ve realized a few things about it. For one thing, you remember that the name you’re looking for is six letters long. You also remember than the first three letters were ‘KAR.’ Which, naturally, raises suspicions as to who exactly Karuna is. Why do you feel like you know him?

“Doesn’t Kandice seem… familiar? At all?” You fold your arms across your chest and stare expectantly at Rose. You watch as she pours herself a cup of tea and stirs it absentmindedly. “Doesn’t she remind you of someone?”

“Yeah,” Rose shrugs. As always, her facial expression is unreadable. “But, you must account for the fact that we’ve been inhabiting this universe for quite a while. There are only so many combinations of personality traits that can occur; and, we’ve probably met someone with similar traits in the past. It’s a matter of probability and circumstance. By now, a lot of people remind me of others.”

“No,” you insist, running your fingers through your hair, “No! It’s not like that. I mean…” A long, heavy sigh escapes you. Without really thinking about it, you pull from your pocket a cigarette and begin to smoke it. “I mean… Fuck. I’m saying that… When I’m around Karuna, it’s like I’ve known the asshole for forever. It’s like I knew him way before this shitty universe was made. And I can’t fuckin’ understand why.”

“Because you’ve met someone with his personality,” Rose hums. “Look, Dave, you’re overthinking this.”

“But…” You shake your head.

_‘Out of everyone,’_ you think, _‘Out of all of us, you should understand this, Rose.’_

“It’s nothing, Dave,” she mutters.

“It’s something,” you insist. “It’s got to be something. I can’t be making this up, Rose. Fuckin’ shit. I _know_ I’m not making this up.” From your spot at the dining room table, you tip your chair back. You manipulate the cigarette so as to restore it to a pristine state and douse the fire at its tip. After pocketing it, you cover your face with your hands. “Please,” you grumble, “Tell me I haven’t fuckin’ lost it. Tell me I haven’t just rocketed off to shit space.”

Here, Rose offers a small shrug. She stops stirring her tea long enough to offer you a stern glare—the sort of look that means you’d better keep what you’re about to hear to yourself. “Yes. She is. And I think I know why.”

“Then why’ve you been denying it!?” you sputter.

Another shrug. “I needed to. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have divulged your most recent information. But, as I’ve said, it seems that there’s a trend.” She breathes a pensive sigh. “Tell me, Dave, what do John and Jane have in common?”

“Aren’t they both ace?”

“Exactly. And what do Jake and Dirk have in common?”

You snicker and roll your eyes. “They’re both gay as fuck for each other.”

“Correct again, Dave. So, who else is left?”

“Me… you… and Jade?”

“And Jade swore off romantic relationships to tend to her universal duties.” Here, Rose quirks her brow expectantly. It’s as if she’s expecting you to be able to follow all of this. Not that you do. Hell, you’re not sure if you’d ever be able to follow this vague series of mildly related ideas. As she _is_ Rose, however, she seems to pick up on this. She elaborates, though the explanation is preceded by a sigh of frustration. “Neither of us have a romantic interest. And I’m willing to bet that’s because they’re somewhere out there—whoever they are.”

You, in return, nod slowly.

Sure, you were worried that you were losing it. Now, you’re worried about Rose. How the hell could she have come up with this conclusion?

“I was reading through my old journals last night. While Kandice was asleep. And I found two names.” Rose’s voice interrupts your thoughts. It breaks through the cloud of confusion and, as you’ve come to expect of her, it puts things into focus. In a way, it’s like a stereotypical mystery board. The pictures have been connected with string; but, until now, you never realized what those strings meant. “Karkat.”

You freeze.

“Karkat?”

The name is so familiar. It flows from your mouth as naturally as your own name. “Karkat… Vantas…” You connect this new evidence with what you recalled earlier.

“And the other name,” Rose informs you, “Is Kanaya. Kanaya Maryam.”

Another slow nod. You feel strange. As if you’re being lifted from reality. And, when you’re set back down, you find yourself staring at that face—the face without a name—and you find that Karkat Vantas fits it perfectly.

The world around you melts. It blends with memories that you never knew you had. You remember being stuck with him on a meteor.

And, with this, your memories gain clarity. The blank spots from before are slowly filled. Some of the reasons behind your personal growth on the meteor are revealed. You remember him—his foul mouth and his rare smile.

He urged you to grow as a person. In return, you’d done the same for him. You remember talking through everything you’ve learned in your life. You told him of the homophobic ideas Bro instilled in you; he revealed his confusion in regards to the quadrants.

And, as suddenly as these memories and those strange feelings came, you’re back.

You’re back in the dining room, staring at the plaster ceiling. You come to realize that Rose’s hand is on your shoulder. When you look at her, you see a thin smile. “What the fuck was that?” you mutter.

“Remnants of Sburb,” she shrugs. “That’s all I can figure out for now. But, it seems that we lost some memories.”

“And what about them… Kanaya and Karkat?”

The smile fades. She shakes her head. “That’s the problem. I can’t recall anything about them after we went through the door. But, I can tell you that they were with us. And they’re out there somewhere.”

“So… You think…?”

“I think we might have found them.”


	7. immortalitys not that cool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is v short and i am v sorry

By the laws of this universe, you—and, by extension, the other seven humans ported over as gods by the game—are immortal. You can survive wounds. You’ve been shot in the chest. Stabbed. Crushed. Smothered. Nothing will kill you. Nothing, that is, but one thing.

For some strange reason, you _can_ die what is known as a Heroic Death.

Honestly, you’ve tried a few times. Early in your stint as an underappreciated god in this universe, you’d jumped in front of cars and taken bullets. None of it has killed you—not even that time you took a speeding garbage truck to save a bus of schoolkids.

As it seems, you must have a connection to them. A deep and undeniable connection whose bond, according to Rose, “Can span clichéd galaxies.” And, if you do, you could die if you’re injured in the process of saving them. Similarly, any injury obtained for them—be it in the process of rescuing or, by Rose’s theory, even killing them—will heal as any other wound would on a non-immortal being. That is, if you’re shot in the gut while protecting them, you’ll probably have to get a section of your intestines removed.

In your opinion, it’s a load of absolute bullshit. It makes no sense.

Thinking through it, though…

“Hey.” You fold your arms across your chest and prop your feet on the dining room table.

Across from you, Karuna is glaring. Glowering. At you. His brows are furrowed and his jaw set. “What, you fucking windbag?”

 _‘It’s a test. Nothing more. Nothing less.’_ The though crosses your mind as, in one swift movement, you grab a knife from your belt and reach across the table. You nick him on the forearm—just enough to draw blood and cause pain, but not enough to do any major damage.

He, in return, yelps.

You immediately heal the wound.

Naturally, he’s less than appreciative. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You feel pain.”

“And? You don’t?”

“Nope.” You sigh. Chew on your lip and stare at nothing in particular. With a small bit of hesitation, you slide the knife across the plain wooden table. “Stab me.”

“What?” Karuna sputters. “You… What?”

“Stab me,” you demand. As if it will solidify an argument you’ve yet to make, you spin the blade in your hand and stab it blade-down into the wood. “Just do it. Don’t aim to kill. Just… Papercut. Papercut me.”

Rolling his eyes, Karuna pulls the blade from the table. He does as instructed and…

To your immense surprise, you feel pain. The wound bleeds before it heals and, no matter how much energy you invest into it, there’s no sign of healing. “Well,” the word escapes you without any thought, “Shit.”

“What the fuck did you think would happen?”

“I…” Your eyes narrow, though the shades you wear keep them out of view. “Nothing,” you lie. “Nothing. Um…”

 

* * *

 

Inside of the surprisingly large closet that’s in Dave’s room, Karuna sits atop a shoe rack. He stares at his cousin, Kandice, with a look of what can only be defined as pure confusion. “How?” he sputters, running his fingers through his hair, “How the fuck can you think any of this is okay!?”

“Life’s giving us a break, Karuna,” she hums, “I don’t see why you’re so worried.”

“Because the person infatuated with _me_ is an insufferable asshole.” He covers his face with his hands and lets forth a groan of frustration. “Look, Kan, I’m fucking fed up with this guy and—”

“Then milk him,” Kandice shrugs. “He’s a god.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **if you've got suggestions, lemme know because my ideas for this story died oops also willing to maybe let a coauthor on the project but idek i kinda want to finish this one**


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